Prisoners
by Burne Hazard
Summary: Events that might have transpired when Remy was with Sinister long before he met the X-Men. (Original Character entered and Slashy) Read&Review. Part 2 coming soon.


            Okay, this is my first attempt at putting up a fan-fic online so, please tolerate me enough so I can try to work everything out and get situated.  I do not own Remy (though I wish I did!) or Sinister, they are, as far as I know, Marvel's property, I'm just borrowing them for a little fun and will not make any money off this so please don't sue me for having a wild imagination.  The other main character is one of my own design so no stealing him please!  
            The main basis for this fic is placed in Remy's younger years as someone told me he once worked for Sinister and couldn't prevent the deaths of several people.  I have no idea what his life was like, this is my own view of a situation that might have happened.  Remy is about 17 or 18 here, give or take, and yes, is working for Sinister who has captured the other character and just kept it around for amusement.  End.

            He was there.  The scent of leather, faint spice, smoke and something indistinct was unmistakable no matter how faint.  For one who had been focused on that delicious combination for so long, it was hard to actually miss it.  But this time, as so often before, fear was laced into the general smell, as was sweat...and blood.  Alarm came next even as the faint sounds of labored breathing and gasps became distinct through the otherwise still air of the night.  
            Eyes opened as the head rose.  He was coming...that much was certain.  He was coming as he had always come once he knew of the existence.  Metal chimed in protest and reminder as the darkness stirred.  Wincing at the suddenly too-loud noise, the sharpened senses were carefully muted back to acceptable levels but for the sight and scent.  There was only the wait now, listening to the growing sounds of stumbling feet and lost breath from running.  
            Pain.  That was what first flooded the fresh wash of scent as he fell into the room.  The door had opened too fast for him when he fell against it.  Whimpering came then, only to be bitten off, swallowed.  The metal clanked coldly, chiming its song and announcing that although its captive moved, the prisoner was not free.  Still, it also made his head rise from the floor as he forced himself onto hands and knees to crawl toward the sound.  
            In the darkness, he could not see without focusing and thus he blindly searched for the source of that noise.  His fear was rising now, a painful taste on the tongue that made the sluggish, cold heart beat with a longing ache.  Another slight motion and the clank drew that exhausted form closer before two dark arms broke free of the pitch black air to take him, drawing him into a warm, gentle embrace as the chains sang their cursed song.  
            "Shhh...don' cry, mon'cher....don' cry..."  
            The hot tears burned that black skin, hot and fresh as he cried so quietly.  Now that he was so close, the scent of blood was thicker, heady.  But it was tainted.  Eyes in the darkness lowered to the skinny form trying hard to curl up in the protection of those arms and that darkness-spawned form.  Pain, every motion to try and curl up was pain.  It had happened again.  Chained as the captive was, help had been impossible.  That fact hurt even more that heavy heart.  
            Something was sobbed in French, or what passed for it at the time.  This was a private language they shared together with no true set language, but mixes of words and meanings.  This was their tongue, their world.  Offering him comfort meant everything despite the hour, the need, the cause or the circumstance.  One of them was chained by metal and restraints, the other was chained by fear and the helplessness of youth among stronger, crueler adults with sadistic tastes.  
            Hands of darkness began their gentle strokes, soothing along his back and of the gentlest affection the nearer each touch came to the source of the physical agony.  Flinching, he whimpered, trying so hard to hold still, to trust in his dark protector.  Gentle words of nonsense were murmured in rich, soft tones against the thick silk of his uncut hair, the breath warm.  First the heavy and far too large leather trench coat was eased off by those stroking hands.  
            "...tell mi yer dreams...omaesan...no spek...think..."  
            Always, that strange voice mixing accents and languages captured him.  He did not need to speak, but simply feel and be understood.  The sobs had come easier, quieter now that he no longer fought them.  No words were truly shared, but they were murmured to the air as the clanking of chains was somehow muted into more whispers.  Seeking fingers found the torn shirt, easing the rag off of his upper body with warm touches to stop the trembling of his flesh.  
            He was relaxing a bit at last.  And still those dark lips never stopped dancing against his hair, what might have passed for a face nuzzling his head.  Here there was the sticky-slick signs of blood.  Claws had to have done this.  Even though the light quests of those dancing fingers were as gentle as possible, his sobs caught as he bit back a whimper of fresh pain.  Anger blossomed like a cold fire within that dark being, adding to what had already been gathered for those who hurt him.  
            Now was not the time for anger, though.  It was a time to try and help.  Abandoning his chest and torso with the developing muscles, those shadowy hands moved to rest on the waist of his pants.  For several minutes, there was no further movement from the dark one, only him.  Time seemed to have no matter as very slowly, skinny but strong arms moved away from naked, bleeding flesh to wind about the physical form of black, needing to hold on.  
            "Ready, amigo?"  
            There was only a fast, shaky nod as he took a deep, halting breath.  They had done this before, and both knew the reaction as well as how to gentle it.  Such instinctive motions were to be expected.  A lingering kiss to the messy hair, and seeking fingers found the fastenings of the jeans, opening them slowly to begin easing them off.  Whimpers came as he began to tremble again, shaking his head.  
            "...non.....non.....no....please....no..."  
            His voice was so ragged, so scared that it nearly broke that dark heart like shattering a mirror.  But those hands did not stop nor did they speed up.  It was simply something that had to be done.  There was more blood here, more pain...and the scent of sex.  Growling mentally but refusing to do so vocally, the dark one continued to ease off the blood and semen stained pants.  His undergarment was gone...as it always had been when this happened.  He was shaking so violently now...even the gentle words of reassurance could not reach him as he began to fall back into the past.  
            Denim slid away from long legs, revealing even more wounds and marks to those careful hands.  He jumped a few times when the prisoner accidentally hit the more tender spots.  Whispered apologies emerged from those lips even if he could not hear them, too deep in memories.  Perhaps it was for the better as he would never be aware of what happened to him.  Even the darkness had its secrets to hold dear, and one of them was now needed to help him.  
            Light began to form, emanating in a dimmed red glow about the tips of elegant fingers.  The illumination made those concerned eyes sparkle like black beads tinged in red.  Somehow darkness managed to keep it from revealing the features of the captive even as the warm red light spread along the digits to trace over the hand.  The very veins were illuminated like a great red web or net within a field of darkness, a silhouette of a humanoid.  
            Warmth spread away from those hands as fingertips gently traced along those red-tinged legs.  It lingered even as that murmuring voice continued, weaving its own manner of magic spell.  The lingering red painted over the gashes and slices, seeped into the darker taint of bruises and soothed them away, healing the cruelty.  Higher and higher up those legs, teasing blood away and absorbing it as another manner of blood emerged to heal.  
            "NO!"  
            Jumping, those dark hands of red heat froze.  One rested the very tips of the fingers against a deep bite mark upon his hip, the other removing a gash from his inner thigh.  His grip was like steel about the chained form's waist, not quite uncomfortable.  Sparkling black eyes dropped to look directly into demonic ones of solid black betrayed only by irises of bloody red light.  Terrifying and lovely at once as they barely made the skin about those eyes visible.  
            "Non, mon'ami?  Remy refuse mi 'elp?"  
            He only stared into the prisoner's eyes.  Sparkling tears were made a translucent red by those eyes as they continued to fall, sliding down his cheeks.  The grip had remained tight, but those arms were trembling with something other than just fear.  After a time of silence, one hand of lit red vein and black essence rose to gently rest against the young mutant's cheek, cradling it while a glowing thumb gently brushed the tears away.  
            "No...Remy...want...'e want you...mon'ami...you."  
            Nothing moved for several minutes.  Only the gradual shifting of the red glow acting like dim flames of light changed.  Then, of his own accord, he shifted to lift himself up and find those faintly outlined lips of shadow.  Sparkling eyes widened before lips driven crazy by the sensation of the youth's mouth parted in welcome to indulge in the scared yet longing kiss.  Those dark arms moved so those hands might begin to caress that lithe back and continue healing.  
            After a moment, even the desire to remove his pain was forgotten as his tongue sought out that darkness, twining about it and stroking with surprising skill.  Forgetting, that dark form slowly wound both arms about the mutant's frame to draw him close, to support him.  His slender arms rose to encircle the dark one's neck, pulling closer.  The scent of the lingering leather, the spice and smoke as well as that unique twist that was Remy flooded the captive's senses.  
            Worlds could have collided, Earth could have exploded, the universe itself could have collapsed and they would have remained unaware in their dark solitude.  Nevertheless, a faint whimper of pain passed into the melding of mouths and desires.  Instantly, the kiss was broken as those sparkling eyes opened to fill with a familiar concern.  The adolescent mutant merely shook his head, trying so hard to smile even though trembling.  
            "Non...heal first, no?  Zen we see, hai?"  
            He would have protested, but those glowing fingertips fell to his lips to silence him.  There was an argument, but it would not happen now.  Nodding reluctantly, he tried to relax once more as those warm hands returned to his injuries.  Every gentle touch left a tingling sensation spreading out through him, easing his tremors and soothing his nerves.  Those demonic eyes began to fall closed as taut muscles relaxed, the tension beginning to ease from his frame.  
            Even when those hands so carefully returned to the most sensitive areas, there was only a hint of tension as his arms tightened about a slender neck.  Pausing, those sparkling eyes turned back toward him only to meet a sleepy gaze.  Those faintly outlined lips curved in a slight, sad smile.  It was perhaps cruel to use the powers to make him sleep as well as heal, but perhaps it was again for the best.  
            Pain faded from the air, as did the scent of blood.  That faint, weak red glow also began to depart, the veins falling back into darkness once more until there was only a warm darkness.  Chains clinked quietly as that caring embrace shifted some.  One arm moved out to take the youth's beaten old trench coat up and slowly wrap him in the folds of still-warm leather.  By now, the young Cajun was more asleep than awake and gave no protest to being moved.  
            Within the folds of pitch black, Remy LeBeau found a measure of peace and comfort as he fell asleep.  Curling protectively about him, a slightly larger and far stronger form held him close in that very safe embrace.  Lips rested gently on auburn hair as hands continued to slowly stroke the mutant's back.  If the captive could have any desire in the world fulfilled, it would be to take the young man away from this prison to show him a true life, true freedom...true love.  
            However, it was not to be.  Not now, perhaps never.  But for now, all that truly mattered was that here was a place he could come to find some measure of safety.  Chains of metal would not always hold this being.  But the chain of friendship, of understanding and...something stronger that remained just out of the reach of description...that would never be broken.  One day, Sinister would loose his grip on the mutant that grew ever stronger despite the attempts to crush him into a slave and pawn.  
            Until then, things would remain.  The night was passing wonderfully slow, and throughout the darkness, the captive remained awake to watch over the precious spark of life in chained arms.  Sometime, unheard by the others, unknown and escaping the grasp of all surveilance equipment just as the entire encounter had been lost to it...a voice rose in tones of power so heated by the rage of injustice committed and an affection strong enough to endure eternity itself found form in perfect English.  
            "One day, Remy LeBeau, you will escape this.  Perhaps on that day...I shall escape with you so that you will never be alone to fall to them again.  Keep dreaming, Gumbo, one day...I swear to you that they will come true."  
            The only response was a soft murmur of "Mon'amour" from the sleeping form as arms wound even tighter about the dark angel.  A gentle smile touched those gentle lips as they fell to his forehead to place a gentle kiss to the flesh.  As he relaxed again with a sigh, that dark head rose to stare directly at the equipment that held the chains in place and sent the alarms should there be any trouble with the prisoner's vital signs.  
            "Sinister an' 'is goons vill pay, ma petite...ya know zat ya c'n always trust de Desumasuku*."

~~Fin?

*Death Mask


End file.
